


Normality

by thedevilchicken



Category: Flight of the Intruder (1991)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: When Virgil came back in from Subic Bay with a clean bill of health, everything went back to normal.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galerian_ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/gifts).



> Or: _We have normality. I repeat, we have normality. Anything you still can't cope with is therefore your own problem._ \- Hitchhiker's Guide

When Virgil came back in from Subic Bay with a clean bill of health and the doc's all-clear to return to duty, everything went right on back to normal. 

He hopped down out of the chopper before they'd even really landed and they clapped each other round the shoulders up there on the flight deck, all smiles, just like old times. The other crews whooped and jostled all around them kinda like Virgil Cole was some kind of a conquering hero, and Jake guessed he kinda was though neither of them would ever have admitted to it, stubborn sons of bitches that they were. They had that in common. They had a lot in common, not that they would've admitted to that, either.

They went inside to the morning briefing with the CAG together after that, Virgil's arm round Jake's shoulders dragging him down to his height along the way with no time at all for Virgil to settle back in. They dicked around after they'd studied their latest mission plans together, one they wouldn't be flying for days, and then they ate their usual crappy lunch together, watched the same crappy movie side by side with the other crews and made half-whispered jackass comments with their elbows in each other's ribs just like nothing had changed. By then, Jake had pretty much convinced himself it was true and really, truly, nothing had changed. It was for the best if it hadn't, he thought. At least, that was what he told himself he thought. 

After the crappy movie was well and truly over and they'd all dispersed, they sat down in Virgil's quarters and had a glass or two or three or five of some kind of half-toxic gin Virgil had smuggled back on board from Subic. The first couple went down just like shitty bathtub moonshine and Virgil laughed as Jack coughed, even when he wondered out loud if he'd wind up blind or maybe lose his liver. Morg would've been the same, he thought, if he'd've lived. They'd've gotten on well, him and Virgil, or absolutely not at all. 

Conversation kinda dwindled after their third glass each and Jake had leaned so far back in his borrowed chair that maybe an inch more and he'd've hit the deck while Virgil watched him with a sly little smile, almost daring him to fall. They looked at each other as they drank, Virgil's small smile fading away bit by bit, Jake starting to frown till he was frowning deeper and deeper and Virgil reached over to pour another glass while Jake crashed back down to all four chair legs to whip one hand over the top of his glass. He wasn't fast enough to stop Virgil pouring, though, not after five glasses - jeez, was it six? - and wound up with gin all over the back of his hand that could've stripped paint off of the carrier's hull. He licked it off of his skin with a scowl. 

Then they both stood themselves up at the exact same time, and they were inside a goddamn Navy boat so there was no space at all between them. That shouldn't've made a difference 'cause they should've been used to that shit with the work they did, but it did. Jake cleared his throat. Virgil raised his brows. 

"Look, we've got an early start..." Jake said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Sure, I guess that's even kinda true," Virgil replied, crossing his arms over his chest, and for a second there Jake wasn't sure he was going to stand aside. Jake's chest went kinda tight and he frowned down at him 'cause frankly, he had no clue what his next move would have to be, and Virgil frowned right on back up like there was something he wanted to say, or do, or both. But he did neither, just eyeballed him a second longer before he stepped aside. "I'll see you bright and early, amigo," he said, and clapped Jake on the back as he let him leave. 

They flew together in the morning, a little gentle refresher after Virgil's little rest stop in the navy hospital, manoeuvres over the water to get the two of them back in sync. Problem was, they weren't in sync when they took off, they weren't in sync when they were in the air, they couldn't get that way at all no matter what they tried and once they'd overshot their landing and gotten themselves waved off, Jake was ready to be out of the plane roughly yesterday. Virgil looked at him like he didn't want to ask what the hell was wrong with him and all Jake could think was _yeah, like you don't know_. Virgil had to know. He wasn't some nickel-and-dime asshole fresh in from Annapolis: he was Virgil Cole. He had a reputation, a _new_ reputation, one he really deserved and not that bullshit everyone else had believed.

They drank again that night after the news had run and finished off the bottle that might've been better shipped off to ship's stores to be used as drain cleaner than put in glasses and drunk. And when Jake stood up to leave when they were done, when conversation had tailed off into nothing, Virgil stood up with him just like he had the night before, and just like they had the night before they wound up a whole foot too close together. Jake was pretty used to it, her told himself, Navy pilot and all, gangways and cockpits, close quarters, was even used to it with Virgil or he should've been, maybe before that he had been. But then he'd thought Virgil had died and from right then it'd seemed all bets were off; they were close but Jesus, oh _Jesus_ , Jake wanted to get closer.

Virgil stood aside without a word but with a pointed look just like he knew. And Jake retreated, feeling like a fucking coward. 

They flew a mission the next day, running support for a couple of other crews, risky but not so risky that they couldn't handle it. Maybe they weren't flying like the team they'd been but they were flying like some kind of a team nonetheless, and in the back of his head Jake had some old instructor of his saying just like landings, any mission you walked away from was pretty much successful. It would've felt a whole lot more successful had he been able to look Virgil in the eye. 

They drank again that night, straight from some bottle of shitty scotch Virgil had traded two packs of smokes for in the galley with the NCOs so that said something about the quality. They passed the bottle around between them, drinking one after the other, fingers brushing by the faded label. Virgil watched him across the room, not that there was a whole lot of room to watch him across, watched him rock his chair back on two legs, watched him spill scotch from the bottle straight down the front of his shirt and Jake scowled as he patted himself down with the towel Virgil threw him that smacked him right across the face. Then, Jake stood to leave. Virgil stood himself up, too.

"Go ahead and spit it out," Virgil said. "Get it off of your chest, man. You'll feel a whole lot better."

Jake wasn't convinced, however. He tried to push past him 'cause getting the hell away from him just seemed like the best course of action, but Virgil was pretty solidly in his way in front of the door; he could've shoved him aside, swiped him into the nearest bulkhead 'cause it damn sure wasn't like Virgil was anywhere as big as he was, even if it kinda felt that way when they were side by side in the cockpit just from the way he was and the way he talked. He always seemed like a big guy till Jke really thought about it.

"I don't know what you mean," Jake replied. 

Virgil raised his brows. "Sure you do," he said. "You've been blowing hot and cold since I got back. It's chilly as the goddamn Arctic Circle in here right now, not the South China Sea."

"Yeah, I still don't know what you mean," Jake replied, kinda like a broken record, and Virgil shook his head like he was disappointed in him as much as the situation as he let him by. 

They flew a way inland the next night, lit up a couple of guns before they came home so it kinda felt like a win for once and then went back to debrief, changed out of their flight suits and finally settled their asses in their usual chairs in Virgil's quarters at the end of it. Why the hell Jake kept on going back there was kinda beyond him, except maybe he thought it made things seem normal when fuck, they were anything but.

"If you're so pissed at me, why do you keep on coming back?" Virgil asked, like reading his mind, a glass of shitty scotch in one hand and a look on his face patter at between irritated and inquisitive. 

"I'm not pissed at you," Jake replied. 

"You're sure about that?"

"I'm pretty sure, yeah." 

Virgil stretched out one leg and nudged the exposed edge of Jake's chair between his legs; it was just enough to send it over and take him down with it, just enough space so he didn't crack open his head like a rotten egg on the edge of the bunk but his scotch wound up all over his shirt. When he picked himself up, it trickled down over his jaw and down his neck, under his collar. It was all over his chest. He was goddamn soaked with it.

"So, how about now?" Virgil said, standing, looming, hands on hips.

"I'm not pissed at you, Virgil," he replied, dripping scotch onto the floor. "Look, I'm just kinda confused." 

Virgil put down his glass on the desk and stood and then he pushed him, hard, right in the middle of his scotch-soaked shirt, hard enough that he took a step back and fell over the damn chair so he was down on the floor again. He hit his elbow on the side of Virgil's bunk and frowned as he picked himself up again, rubbing it. 

"What the hell are you doing?"

"How about now?" Virgil asked. "You pissed at me now, Jake?"

"Jeez, I'm not pissed at you." 

Virgil paused a second then stepped forward and took two good handfuls of the front of Jake's scotch-soaked uniform shirt. He pulled, hard, buttons popping and scattering over the floor, one winding up in Virgil's half-drunk glass of scotch though it didn't look like he gave a damn about that. 

"How about _now_?" Virgil asked, as Jake pretty much gaped down at his ruined shirt. 

"Son of a bitch, what am I meant to do with this?" he said, gesturing at it.

"Are you pissed at me, Jake?"

"Y'know I kinda am now, yeah."

"Just about this?"

"Yeah." He tugged off his damp, torn shirt and tossed it at him; Virgil caught it and dropped it straight down on the floor in the pool of spilled scotch like he was using it to mop it up and Jake scowled. "No. Yes. Jesus Christ, what do you want?"

"I want you to say it."

"Say what?"

"Say _it_."

"Say _what_?"

"You know what." 

"No, I don't."

"Sure you do." 

"I'm pretty sure I don't." 

"You wanna tell me something." 

"No, I don't." 

"Sure you do." 

Jake's hands closed up into fists. "But I'm pretty sure I don't," he said.

Virgil clasped him hard by his bare upper arms. "Say it," he said again.

"Say what?"

"Say it."

"Say _what_?"

"Say it, Jake." 

"I thought you were dead." 

"And?"

"I heard you call for the air strike." 

"And?"

"I wanted to save you." 

"And?"

"You wouldn't let me save you." 

" _And_?" 

Jake shook his head. He pushed him back, but not away, just pushed himback against the wall. "Don't you die on me again," he said, pinning him there with his hands and his scotch-damp undershirt. "Don't you die on me, Virgil."

Virgil looked up at him. Virgil's hands went up and cupped his jaw, thumbs rasping against stubble. "And?" he said. 

He couldn't think of another word to say after that, he was on the verge of shaking or buckling or yelling out loud or a combination of the three, so he kissed him instead. When Virgil didn't push him back, when he pulled him in closer and kissed him back, strained and hot and drunk and desperate, Jake figured maybe that was what Virgil had been getting at all along. 

Three days later, he wrote and broke it off with Callie, whatever it had been. He thought it was a pretty good letter he sent her, that it said all the important stuff, told her she deserved a whole lot better 'cause he was pretty sure that much was true. She didn't deserve to be waiting for a guy who was a whole lot more interested in another guy that he was in her. She deserved a guy who loved her, not just the idea of what loving her could mean.

He sent the letter off with the Navy's mail back to shore and he stood up on deck sometime past dusk later that day and he wondered to himself what the hell it was he thought he was doing, there, in the Navy, with his goddamn bombardier. Then he went inside and he dodged the XO who was making his rounds and he ducked on into Virgil's quarters. He'd left the door open and he was stripped to the waist inside, shaving his face over the sink, and Jake had to tell himself not to gawp like a fucking idiot. Then again, it was the goddamn Navy, it wasn't like Jake hadn't seen a guy shirtless before. It wasn't like it was a some kind of major scandal. 

Virgil had a scar where he'd been shot, ragged and ugly and still nowhere close to faded though it was healed up pretty much entirely by then. Virgil looked at Jake looking at it. He went across the room and took Jake's hand and took it to it, and Jake traced it with his fingers, lightly at first and then harder, _harder_ , till Virgil was wincing, his teeth clenched and bared, but he didn't make him stop. He kissed him instead, fucking crushed his mouth against Jake's, got his hands to the back of his neck and dragged him down to meet him. 

Their flying didn't click back into place right away - it took work, but it was work they were willing to do and Camparelli was oddly willing to give them the latitude to do it. They logged more hours in the week after that than the rest of them did in the next three and at the end of the day, each day, they went back to Virgil's quarters and maybe drank and maybe didn't while they went over the day's work again, mistakes, manoeuvres, where they'd gone wrong, where they'd improve next time. Sometimes shitty gin escaped down Jake's neck toward his collar and Virgil leaned in to lick it away, his tongue rasping against Jake's five o'clock shadow. His mouth sucking at his pulse was electric, his hands on the curve of his ass, the back of his neck, his wrists, his waist, his thighs. But it went no further than that, over the top of their uniforms, till shore leave at Subic came round. 

While the others made friends with the local ladies or went home to their wives, Jake and Virgil made their way away together. One of the guys who'd stayed on board had handed over his keys 'cause his wife was visiting away her folks in Indiana, not that he'd had a clue what he'd volunteered his place for, not that Jake really knew what Virgil had in mind, either. But when Virgil led the way into the bedroom and started taking off his uniform, Jake started on his, too. He figured it seemed appropriate. He tried to tell himself that was what mattered and not how cock was stiffening.

"Hey," Virgil said, glancing over with a smile creeping onto his face. "Who told you to undress?"

"It's gonna be a wash-out if I don't right?" Jake said, brows raised, and Virgil just chuckled as he toed off his shoes and tugged his undershirt up off over his head, so he stopped and he waited. He watched, and Virgil stripped right down to his skin right in front of him. 

Virgil's body wasn't much like his at all, Jake thought, except in the basics: two arms, two legs, eyes, mouth, nose, a half-erect cock and one of two hands wrapped around it. But his shoulders weren't as broad, his hips were slimmer, his physique was what Jake guessed he might've called wiry. Maybe he wasn't really handsome, not like the stars of the movies they watched back on board, not like the couple of midshipmen he'd fooled around with back home back when he'd been at the Academy, but jeez, there was something about him. Virgil put his hands on his hips and he grinned at Jake and Jake found himself grinning back at him. He just couldn't help himself.

" _Now_ you're overdressed, amigo," Virgil said, drumming his fingers against his own hips, and he took a seat on the end of the borrowed bed with his cock jutting up obscenely. 

"You gonna tell me what to do all night?" Jake asked, amused, unbuttoning his shirt, and Virgil shrugged. 

"Sure, why not?" he replied, still smiling, teasing, but with an edge. The way it sent a thrill right down into his cock, Jake guessed he couldn't find a whole lot wrong with that. 

Virgil told him what to do. He told him to take off his clothes, so he did. He told him to turn around for him and do a slow three-sixty, let him see what he'd got, so he did. He told him to get down on his knees and so he did that, too, sitting back on his heels and looking up at him. Virgil rested his hands on Jake's shoulders, his thumbs rubbing his collarbones, and Jake was nervous, he was thrilled, maybe hesitant, entirely willing. 

"Suck me," Virgil said, and Jake looked at him, wide-eyed. "It's not gonna bite you, Jake, I swear." He raised his brows, mock-alarmed. "And you shouldn't bite it, either." 

Jake snickered. Somehow that made it easier to lean in and suck Virgil's cock, lips around the head, hand around the base. It made it easier to have him in his mouth, his tongue at the tip, Virgil's nails against his scalp, against his shoulders. 

When Virgil pushed him back and told him to get up on the bed, Jake did it. When he told him to get down on his hands and knees, he did that, too. He parted Jake's cheeks, rubbed his hole with his thumb, and jeez, Jake almost thought he'd finish right then and there, just like that, before they'd ever done it. Virgil chuckled, rubbing the length of his cock against the crack of Jake's ass. 

"I bet you'd let me, wouldn't you," Virgil said, shifting to rub the moist head of his cock against his hole in teasing, meaningful little circles. 

"Yeah," Jake replied, half breathless, like that was obvious, maybe 'cause he'd thought it was. 

"That's real sweet, Jake, but how about you do me this time?" Virgil said, and wow, he really had to admit that sounded even better. 

He told him what to do. Virgil went down on his hands and knees, spread his knees real wide and handed him some kind of lubricant; he told him what to do with it, snickered when his cock slipped down and up and all around instead of in, made Jake chuckle along with him till finally the head popped into him, just like that, abruptly, with a rush, with a thrill. Virgil took a sharp breath. Jake gripped at his hips.

"You've never gone all the way with a guy, right?" Virgil said as he pushed back against him, as he took him in deep and then deeper than that. Then he pushed himself up off his hands and onto his knees and glanced back at Jake over his shoulder, his back pressed to Jake's chest. "You maybe jacked a guy off in high school and sucked off a couple of guys at the academy but you've never gone to bed with a guy. Right? I think I'm right."

Jake nodded, his throat tight, his muscles taut, and jeez, he'd've told him anything he wanted to know right then, no question. "Right," he replied.

Virgil flashed him a grin. Virgil reached back over his shoulder and patted Jake's cheek. "Amigo, there's a first time for everything," he said, and when Jake came in him, his arms wrapped tight around Virgil's waist, he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time, either. They'd make time sometimes, just like that. And hell, the war couldn't last forever. 

When Virgil had come back in from Subic Bay with a clean bill of health, nothing had changed at all between them. 

When Virgil had come back in from Subic Bay, everything had gone right back to normal. It turned out Jake just hadn't realized what normal was for them.


End file.
